


Coup de Grace

by scorose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Behind the Scenes, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Boss/Employee Relationship, Death Eaters, Dementors, Developing Relationship, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Get Together, Get together fic, Government Conspiracy, Guilt, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Miscellaneous Ministry Employees, Muggles, Pre-Relationship, Second War with Voldemort, Survivor Guilt, ministry employees
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2020-02-29 17:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18782503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorose/pseuds/scorose
Summary: Percy was a fan of protocol. His attention to detail and penchant for following the rules is what had allowed him to rise through the ranks. His superiors knew he would do anything for them, and for the good of the Ministry. But never – never – before, had one of these actions left him feeling such unease. Not even, he mused with a wry twist of his lips, the way Cornelius Fudge had spoken about his “traitorous” family. Aligning with the Ministry over Dumbledore’s ideals had seemed like such a good move at the time. But now…A tale of the events that turn Percy away from the Ministry and to the Battle of Hogwarts, reunited with his family once again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [knaps_docx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knaps_docx/gifts).



> Dedicated to **Sarah** for your unwavering support, and for being my muse when I can't inspiration properly.
> 
> Un-Britpicked, so hopefully I haven't messed anything up.

“Good morning, Ms. Lewis,” Percy greeted absently as the door opened, not bothering to look up from the document he was checking for accuracy, quill pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He very nearly made a comment about her tardiness, but as it was only a minute past, and a Friday, he felt in a giving mood. He paused, then; he was used to her chirping a, “Good morning, Mr. Weasley!” back at him, far too cheerful for eight A.M., but there was silence. He stabbed a finger at the paragraph he’d reached to mark his place and glanced up.

Ms. Lewis was hanging her coat on the coat tree in the corner, and when she turned to her desk he noticed her face was quite pallid – not much darker than the bright white legal parchment he’d been looking over. He reached up to adjust his horn-rimmed glasses. She was frowning; he wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever seen his secretary frown, not in the three years she’d worked in the Minister for Magic’s office.

“Ms. Lewis?” Percy tried again, slowly, and she blinked, looking up to him as though startled. From across the room he could see her pupils were blown, and she had a look of panic about her. “Whatever is the matter?”

She promptly burst into tears.

_Merlin_.

Percy had to bite his tongue against his kneejerk reaction, which was to remind the young woman that this was a governing institution, and not a forum for her emotional outbursts. Ms. Lewis was, generally, upbeat to the point of annoyance, but was quite charming and diplomatic when appropriate, and on the whole was a professional and respectable Ministry employee. To see her in such a state of distress was disarming, to say the least. Percy sighed, carefully setting down his quill and rising from his high back desk chair. He approached her desk slowly; he stopped a foot away, dithering on the spot.

“What happened?” he finally asked, voice soft. Ms. Lewis’s watery blue gaze peeked up at him from behind her fingers; she’d been sobbing into her hands, and there were kohl-stained tear tracks running down her fingers.

“D-dementors,” she croaked, sniffling. “They were – horrible!”

“Dementors?” Percy repeated in disbelief. “Where?”

“In th-the alley,” she said, sniffling again. She took a deep breath, daintily wiped away the tears and makeup smudges below her eyes, and said, jaw trembling, “There were two of them waiting b-by the Apparition point.”

“Are –? Ms. Lewis,” he said, shutting his eyes momentarily, trying to be both gentle and diplomatic all at once. “Dementors are guards and justice keepers, and are under Ministry control,” he rattled off. “It seems as though you’re insinuating –”

Just then, the door to the department opened, and a tall, dark-haired man wandered in, looking lost and extremely put out. His gaze slowly travelled up to meet Percy’s; he, too, looked pale and rather frightened. “I need to see the Minister,” he said, voice hollow.

“Mr. Barker,” Percy greeted cordially, straightening his spine as he regarded the dishevelled looking man from the Portkey Office. “Have you an appointment?” He glanced to Ms. Lewis, raising his eyebrow at the schedule book before her, yet unopened; she looked back at him with furrowed brows, regarding him as if he’d sprouted a second head.

“ _Dementors_!” Barker hissed in response, suddenly coming to life despite his general look of nausea. He glared at Percy, indignant, swaying slightly. “There’re Dementors on the streets! This is ‘n urgent matter, an’ I must speak with the Minister at once –”

“The Minister is a busy man, as you no doubt know,” Percy replied, his voice strong and full of authority. “As an esteemed member of the Ministry, it should go without saying your logical next step is a visit to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, where Mr. Pius Thicknesse himself can tell you there are no Dementors assigned to patrol the route which our own employees take to work every single day. Perhaps he would be willing to look into your frivolous claims.”

“Look at ‘er!” Barker said, taking a staggering step forward and pointing a long, thin finger at Ms. Lewis’s trembling form. “I can tell she’s seen ‘em too! Shaking like a leaf, she is, and you’re just going to stand there and pretend –”

“As Junior Assistant to the Minister for Magic, I am responsible for the care of my _own_ secretary,” Percy responded lazily, “as well as, apparently, rationalizing your unfounded theories. As such –”

There was a creak as the door to Rufus Scrimgeour’s office opened, and the grim-faced Minister for Magic stood in the doorway, regarding the triangle of employees in the chamber with confusion. “What seems to be going on?” he asked, looking to Percy.

Percy felt a smile twitching at his lips; pride, that the Minister trusted him for an answer before the others. “These two are under the impression a Dementor chased them down in the alleyway upon Apparating. I have informed them of the correct pathway to report their complaints –”

“Is this a sodding joke?” Barker roared, advancing on Percy, who reached into his suit jacket, hand closing around his wand.

“Now, now,” Scrimgeour said haltingly. “Please, everyone be calm. Eddard, it is clear you’re upset, but before you force my hand in filing a report of workplace violence, let’s discuss this rationally.” He approached Barker slowly. “Are you quite certain of your claims? Need I remind you the repercussions of such an accusation, should it prove false?”

“Aye,” Barker replied as Scrimgeour came to a stop before him, yellow eyes searching behind his wire-rimmed spectacles. “Two of ‘em; nearly had me, too. I’m not good at Patronuses, see,” he added, looking as if he was ready to keel over at the memory.

“And you, my dear?” Scrimgeour asked, turning toward Ms. Lewis, who was hunched in her seat, looking almost exhausted. “Can you corroborate his story?”

“Yes, Minister,” she replied after a moment, nodding. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “Advanced on me as I Apparated. I just… ran for it. I…” She trailed off, looking almost puzzled.

“Weasley,” Scrimgeour said, turning toward his Junior Assistant. “Compose an interdepartmental message to Pius Thicknesse at once. I want this dealt with swiftly.” Percy did his best to hide his surprise and immediately crossed the room to his desk, producing a clean sheet of parchment. He dipped his quill into his inkwell and began a brief message, paying half attention as the Minister continued. “Not a word of this,” Scrimgeour said warningly, turning toward Baker and Ms. Lewis with a grave expression, “until your unofficial report to Mr. Thicknesse. We mustn’t bicker amongst ourselves. This situation shall be dealt with internally, and you needn’t worry yourselves over it anymore. Understood?”

Baker regarded the Minister for a moment, some pink rising into his white cheeks. After a beat, he gave a curt nod and strode from the room without another word. The door slammed behind him. Scrimgeour cast a glance at Ms. Lewis next. “Audrey,” Percy heard him say, barely above a whisper. “Do I have your word?”

At her silence, Percy looked up, curious about their exchange. Ms. Lewis had straightened in her seat, and was regarding the Minister with what looked to Percy as contempt. “I know what I saw,” she told him in a clipped tone. 

“Yes,” he conceded with a jerk of his head. “But it is imperative that none other than Mr. Thicknesse hear another word of it.” 

Several emotions flitted across Ms. Lewis’s face in the next moment, Percy observed – astonishment, disgust, and finally a cool acceptance. “Yes, sir,” she finally said, voice glacial, as she looked down at her desk and reached for her planner. Scrimgeour dithered for a moment, finally giving a curt nod, striding back into his office and shutting the door tightly.

Percy was frozen, the tip of his quill resting in the inkwell, running over the past several minutes in his head. He knew – and admired – the Minister’s plans for a united Ministry, aligned in their views and in support of the people. But this… well, this was a direct disregard for protocol. 

Percy was a fan of protocol. His attention to detail and penchant for following the rules is what had allowed him to rise through the ranks. His superiors knew he would do anything for them, and for the good of the Ministry. But never – never – before, had one of these actions left him feeling such unease. Not even, he mused with a wry twist of his lips, the way Cornelius Fudge had spoken about his “traitorous” family. Aligning with the Ministry over Dumbledore’s ideals had seemed like such a good move at the time. But now…

Percy removed his quill from the inkwell, finishing the last sentence of his communication, and signed _Percival Weasley, Junior Assistant Minister for Magic_ with a loopy flourish. With a lazy flick of his wand, he charmed the letter flying through the air and fluttering through the crack under the door, sending it in the direction of all other interdepartmental mail. He looked up to Ms. Lewis, then, folding his hands atop his desk and regarding her with, potentially, more consideration than he’d offered in the three years they’d worked together.

She’d resumed a normal upright seated position in her office chair; her eyes looked red, even from across the room, and dark smudges of her makeup were still visible beneath them, but she seemed to have pulled herself together and had begun sorting through the documents in her inbox. She was also, he noted, steadfastly ignoring him; at various points in a normal day, she engaged in rather one-sided chatter. Though usually pertaining to work, it ground on his nerves. How long he’d wished for her to shut up, and now… well, now he’d gotten his wish, and he couldn’t understand why he so desired her to speak.

With a sigh, Percy reached for his briefcase. He placed it carefully atop his desk, flipping the clasps and opening it. He’d packed himself a sandwich and crisps, as he did nearly every day, but today was different; he’d been given a homemade jam roly-poly by Auror Robards, made by his wife; the Robards’ had hosted the Minister and a selection of his staff for dinner the previous month, and Percy had, as always, taken the opportunity to network with other high ranking Ministry employees. The dessert was a reward for making a good impression; Percy eyed Ms. Lewis speculatively, watching from across the room as she stuffed an envelope, hands shaking, and made a swift decision.

He rose from his desk, clutching the wrapped roly-poly in his hand, and approached her, if possible, more cautiously than he had when she’d been crying earlier. She steadfastly ignored him, eyes focussed on a flyer from the Department of Magical Transportation regarding travel protocol changes for the upcoming term at Hogwarts. He let out a breath through his nose. “Ms. Lewis?” he said.

“Yes, _Mr. Weasley_?” she replied. Oh, she was in quite a strop. Percy had never seen his secretary with such an attitude toward him – and, he wagered, he’d been plenty unpleasant to her during their time working together.

“Audrey,” Percy breathed, testing out the odd way her name rolled off his tongue. She looked up in surprise; Percy did not break professionalism. Ever. Their eyes met, and Percy’s hand flexed, nearly squishing the jam roly-poly; he reached forward and dropped it onto her desk, lest he do any more damage to it. “Eat it,” he said softly. “You could do with a spike in your blood sugar.” The unspoken acknowledgement of what she’d been through that morning hung heavy between them. Percy Weasley did not break protocol. Percy Weasley did not go against orders. And Percy Weasley most definitely not share dessert, especially one with a caveat. Scrimgeour had, in so few words, proved his ignorance wrong, and, with it, created a tiny fracture in the faith he held in the institution.

“You… you finally believe me,” she said, and he couldn’t tell whether it was a question or not. His skin felt hot and too tight, stretched over him in a way that almost itched. He fought of a wave of panic, and instead nodded. Ms. Lewis’s – _Audrey’s_ – eyes darted between the roly-poly and him. “Thank you,” she said, softly. “Percy,” she added as an afterthought, and he saw some of the familiar life dancing in her eyes as she daringly spoke his first name; his responding look was withering.

The door of Scrimgeour’s office squeaked, signalling it being opened. Percy felt himself stiffen, and he stuttered out, “You’re quite welcome.” He felt the Minister’s eyes on his back and he swallowed. His gaze focused on Ms. Lewis’s left ear, and he tried to keep his speech as neutral as possible. “As you are not in any position to contradict the Minister for Magic, I suggest you keep this to yourself,” he said carefully, ignoring her scandalized look and the subsequent nagging sensation he felt in the pit of his stomach as he turned away and walked back to his desk. The air in the room was so thick it would have needed a slicing charm to cut through it, and the back of Percy’s neck burned with guilt. He kept his head down as he shut his briefcase and returned it to its spot, tucked under the edge of his desk.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy exhaled, and was surprised to see his own breath. His eyes widened; he dropped the collar of his trench coat, looking up, frantically, and realized exactly what alleyway he was in.

“Good morning, Percy.”

Percy hesitated for a fraction of a second before shutting the door behind him and turning to face his secretary. “Ms. Lewis,” he responded, hesitantly. Ever since the morning where she’d been confronted by Dementors, and he’d refuted her claims so insistently in front of the Minister, she’d been notably cooler towards him, not to mention jumpy. She was on edge, and he felt he was partially to blame; throwing her under the proverbial bus in order to boost his own image was not something he was proud of, and that it continued to bother him was troublesome, to say the least. He’d never had such qualms about his own faith in Rufus Scrimgeour, however blind others claimed it to be. But as he gazed questioningly at Audrey – _Ms. Lewis_ , he corrected himself sharply – he felt an uneasy swooping in his stomach.

“I sorted the post – and you’ve an invitation,” she told him softly, a smile gracing her lips, and for all the annoyance he’d felt at her over-enthusiasm in the past, she’d seemed so glum recently he felt a rare smile touch his lips as well. That is, until she handed him the sparkling, decorated parchment.

 

_You are cordially invited to celebrate in the loving union of_

_William Arthur Weasley_

_and_

_Fleur Isabelle Delacour_

_on the first of August, 1997_

_at 3 o’clock in the afternoon_

 

Percy pressed his lips into a thin line and promptly thrust the invitation back into Ms. Lewis’s hands. She gave a small sound of surprise but, ignoring her, Percy turned on his heel and strode toward his desk, dropping his briefcase rather heavily. Instead of sitting down, he remained standing, still in his coat, breathing carefully through his nose. He braced himself against the wall with one arm, staring out the window at the grey cityscape, taking deep inhalations of air.

“Per – Mr. Weasley?” Ms. Lewis questioned from behind him.

“Please return to your desk, Ms. Lewis,” Percy said, voice hollow. He felt a telltale tickle in his sinuses, pinpricks in the backs of his eyes, and swallowed thickly.

“Would you like me to respond?” she asked, and he could hear the hesitance in her voice. “You and a guest?”

“No, as I won’t be attending,” he heard himself snap. He pushed off the window, and strode back toward the door. “I need some air.”

The lift ride up to the Atrium was nauseating and left Percy feeling caged and claustrophobic, trapped in a tiny box with lower level Ministry employees who recognized him well enough to keep to themselves, due to his notoriously cold air and bad temper. When the doors finally slid open, he burst through them, eyes focussed on the east wall. He heard someone shout his name from somewhere behind him, but he ignored it, and it was lost to the bustle of activity. When he reached the exit wall, he closed his eyes, bracing himself, and strode purposefully through it; a moment later, he was standing on a London street corner, and was rather forcefully shoulder checked by a fierce looking muggle woman with an umbrella, who shouted, “Oi, watch it!” over her shoulder. He inhaled, grateful for the chilly breeze, and the tiny droplets of rain that cooled his burning cheeks. He took a few ragged breaths before heading north on the walkway, no destination in mind.

He tried desperately not to dwell, but was plagued with thoughts of his family. Their last interaction at Christmas had been quite unpleasant; he knew Minister Scrimgeour’s mission for getting Potter on their side, and presenting a united front. He also understood the Minister had a vision for his family’s help; promoting his father to a nicer, more useful department had been a surprisingly generous act, especially when Percy considered the professional embarrassment his father had brought him in years past. But after his father’s accusation that Percy was being used as some sort of Ministry spy on the Weasleys, and on the Potter boy for that matter, he’d bottled up his bitterness towards them and buried it deep, preferring to just ignore them and focus on his work. He had great plans for his Ministry career, and personal entanglements had only served to get in his way.

And then… and then barely two months previous there had been a battle at Hogwarts. Death Eaters and curses and death. Albus Dumbledore had been murdered, and a werewolf had attacked his own brother – and while Percy had been devastated upon hearing the news of Bill’s injuries, there was a certain bit of resentment that he’d had to hear of it from his boss, and not his own family.

_Why would we reach out to you in the first place, Percy the Prat?_ George’s voice mocked him in his own head. _You want nothing to do with us_ , Fred’s voice took over, as though they were there with him, dogging his steps and finishing one another’s sentences, as they liked to do. Percy recalled the guilt of returning his mother’s handmade sweater a Christmas past, his motivations being wanting one less thing identifying him as ‘one of those traitorous Weasleys’. And now, with the Order of the Phoenix all but exposed and the entirety of his family involved in the secret organization – at odds with the Ministry – he knew it had been smart to protect his career.

Right?

Maybe this invitation served as a relief. Bill was obviously okay, if he were well enough to get married. If something had been really wrong, the Delacour girl would have called off the engagement, surely. The invitation was just a gesture. There’s no way that, after all their conflict, they honestly _wanted_ him to be there. His siblings were practically strangers, anymore, their motivations in life so different from his own. Yes, he would say nothing, and it would be for the best.

He found himself in an alleyway, the collar of his coat turned up as the rain fell more heavily, and he tried to figure out what to do next. He wasn’t sure he could return to his office and face her. Audrey. _Ms. Lewis._ With her gigantic, knowing, sea blue eyes. Her chatter – well, he missed that. She’d go on and on about appointments and procedure and bylaws and, Merlin, she might like the sound of her own voice, but she was also whip smart. She had a knack for handing him documents before he had to ask for them, always kept a warming charm on his tea because he would get distracted for hours and forget to drink it. She’d kept up her high level of work, but she was much more distant from him, ever since the morning of the Dementor sighting.

He was, in retrospect, quite mortified of the events that transpired that day. Percy didn’t like to live with regrets, much less to his subordinate. And he truly didn’t know how to set things to right with her. Especially now; once again he’d lashed out with no explanation. He was honestly surprised she hadn’t tendered her resignation, by that point. (He’d gone through four secretaries in two months’ time before she’d shown up.) He knew without her saying as much that she’d questioned her allegiance to the Ministry after the incident. She knew protocol, as did he; and while he respected the Minister’s authority…

He stopped himself before going further down that path, as it was a dangerous one. He’d done too much thinking on Mr. Scrimgeour’s motivations for one morning. It was not wise to question his superior. Unlike his family, he placed trust in the man appointed to lead their world through darkness. While certain questionable events had transpired… Scrimgeour was no fool. 

Percy exhaled, and was surprised to see his own breath. His eyes widened; he dropped the collar of his trench coat, looking up, frantically, and realized exactly what alleyway he was in. 

“No,” he breathed, his hand plunging into his suit jacket, seeking his wand; he was unsuccessful. “Damn!” he swore, patting down all of his pockets. The rain at his feet began to freeze over, and the droplets clinging to his coat and the tips of his curly hair turned to icicles. A dark mass was advancing toward him from deep in the alleyway – a floating, billowing black figure with no discernable face. Utter despair set in – Percy took a staggering step backward, his shoulder colliding with the bricks of he alley, and nearly lost his footing on the icy cobbles. He felt the tears he’d held back in his office spill forth, and he might have whimpered as he slipped. The movement was enough to jostle his glasses, which slid off his face. He felt his insides turning to ice, his heart pumping frantically, as panic seized him –

“ _Expecto Patronum_!”

A great white, misty cat shape appeared, leaping from over Percy’s shoulder and charging at the Dementor. The light was almost blinding, and Percy threw out an arm to shield his eyes. His knees shook; he reached out his free hand, grasping for purchase on the bricks, and braced himself with his palm as he lowered his knees to the ground. One broke the icy surface and splashed into a puddle, and he clumsily felt his bum hit the cold cobbles. He wrapped his arms around his knees, shivering; his teeth chattered.

“ _Damn_ it, Percy, what’s wrong with you?”

He looked up, blinking. His vision was blurry without his glasses, but it was clear who was leaning towards him; his glasses were carefully replaced on his face, and despite the crack in his left lens, Ms. Lewis’s stern glare came into focus.

“That is Mr. Weasley, to you,” he managed, voice hoarse, and he watched his secretary’s face sour further.

“Seeing as I just saved your arse, I think I can call you whatever I please from now on,” she retorted. She produced her wand, aiming it at him, and he flinched, but she muttered, “ _Reparo_ ,” and the crack in his glass lens disappeared. 

“That…” he started, but words failed him. He realized, belatedly, his face was wet, and it was not from the rain. He swiped at his cheeks carefully, straightened his glasses frames, and coughed once. 

“D’you believe me now, or would you like to speak more rubbish about me to the Minister?” Ms. Lewis retorted, gazing down at him with her arms crossed. He winced, but he was relieved; he’d rather her be angry with him than the detached sadness she’d held onto recently. Sassy and hot headed was far closer to her usually vivacious persona than being a mute mope.

“You – your cat,” he tried again, swallowing. She reached out a hand to him, and he took it, surprised by the softness of her grasp as she helped haul him to his feet. He regained his footing shakily and looked up, seeking her eyes. “I didn’t know you could cast a corporeal Patronus.”

She met his gaze, quirking a dark eyebrow at him. “It’s in my file,” she said cryptically. She held her arm aloft and he gazed at it for a moment in confusion before relenting, linking elbows with her, and allowing himself to lean some weight against her. 

“I need to speak with Minister Scrimgeour,” Percy told her, his voice sounding tired to his own ears. “I can’t – ”

“Trust him? No you can’t.” Ms. Lewis spoke over him, sharply, casting a glance around. At his questioning look, she shook her head once. “Not here,” she murmured, “but I know a place. Let’s get some food in you, and we can talk.”

Percy paused, relenting as she turned and attempted to lead him further into the alley. Skiving off work? And so early in the day – it was only half eight! But her words had intrigued him, and his knees felt like the jam roly-poly he’d given her that dreadful day, and so he acquiesced, allowing her to lead him further into the alley. They stood in the puddle that marked the Apparition point, and Ms. Lewis wound a thin, warm arm around his waist beneath his coat. He barely had time to react to the gesture before he felt the dizzy compression of magical travel.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ms. Lewis, what is going on? What’s the secret here?”
> 
> “I’m being followed,” she said simply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've started a playlist for this story if you're interested in checking it out! One on [Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLHKI9WOtA3Gmp3U6lzZSEPL3ynxXMh_4C) and one on [Spotify](http://open.spotify.com/user/22gjg4cto6jys2hajopgafnty/playlist/5d1zSn9InXDEFItoDs3mwf).

Ms. Lewis Apparated them to a busy muggle village further into London. It was raining, there, but not quite as heavily as outside the Ministry, and she led him around the corner and into a pub. What pub was open at nine in the morning on a workday, Percy was sceptical; as they entered, it seemed he and Ms. Lewis were the only patrons. She led him to a cosy corner booth and helped him sit down; he collapsed, suddenly overcome with how worn out being terrified by a Dementor had made him.

Ms. Lewis unwound the scarf from around her neck, setting it next to him in the booth, and muttered, “Excuse me,” before crossing the pub, heels clacking on the stone floor. Percy looked around; the building was decorated with kitsch, muggle knick-knacks, but looked well lived-in and quite homey. It reminded him of the Burrow–

He looked down at his clasped hands on the table before him, not allowing himself to dwell on such a thought. Not now. He was trying to fight the panic that was rising through him, the desire to immediately owl his mother, his siblings, and apologize, profusely, ask after Bill, tell them eagerly he’d come to the wedding – and a thought came to mind, unbidden, of him in a folding chair on the Burrow’s lawn, gold decorations everywhere (to match the invitations, as was likely Miss Delacour’s style), turning to the woman seated next to him – Audrey, in a lilac gown, her hair in a chignon, blue eyes shining as she laughed gaily at something clever he said –

 _No_.

Percy pressed the heels of his hands roughly into his eyes, panting. He felt light-headed and shaken, deep to his core.

There was a thunk, and Percy looked up, peeking through his fingers; Ms. Lewis had placed a platter on the table before him, laden with fragrant food. He breathed deeply. Potatoes and roast beef – a hearty home-cooked lunch. He looked up to meet her eyes in surprise. 

“My parents own this place,” she told him, sitting down in the booth across from him. “Their cook, Reginald, comes in the morning to finish up any cleaning and start whatever the lunch special is for the day.”

Percy studied her appraisingly for a moment. “Your parents are muggles,” he finally deduced, and something in her eyes shifted. She quirked a brow.

“As I said before,” she told him, coolly leaning back in her seat, “it’s all in my file. Now, tuck in.” 

She’d brought silverware wrapped in a napkin, and Percy unfolded it carefully, laying the linen across his lap and spearing a potato slice with his fork. As he chewed, he watched her through his eyelashes; her arms wrapped around herself, she kept casting nervous glances in the direction of the door.

“R’you waiting for someone?” he asked her as he scooped up a bite of roast beef. Her head whipped around to him, startled. “Ms. Lewis, _what_ is going on? What’s the secret here?”

“I’m being followed,” she said simply, and Percy set his fork down with an echoing _clink_ against his plate.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked, and the look she gave him was searching, her wide eyes roving over his face. Her eyebrows ticked up fractionally, and she breathed out in surprise. 

“So you _don’t_ know,” she surmised, and she leaned forward slightly. Percy shrugged his shoulders fractionally, pressing his lips together in confusion. Ms. Lewis folded her hands together and met his eyes. Her brows were furrowed, her face drawn. “Someone is tailing me.” 

Percy’s eyebrows drew together, and he gazed at her for a moment.

“You may think I’m crazy,” she challenged him, “but it’s true. Ever since the morning that Dementor came after me. Someone follows me back to my flat, tails me at the market – always just out of sight, but… I can sense it. _And_ ,” she continued, cutting Percy off as he opened his mouth opened to argue, “someone’s been in my Ministry file. I figured it was you –”

“Yes, you did seem rather insistent on that theory,” Percy muttered as Ms. Lewis reached into her coat pocket, producing a small slip of parchment. She glowered at him before holding it out. 

Percy squinted; there was a London address scrawled on the paper in a familiar messy script.

“That’s my address,” Ms. Lewis told him. “ _My_ writing, my _original_ note. I gave it to Mrs. Crowley, in HR, when I moved into my own flat, so they could update my address in their system – it had to have slipped out of my file. I found it on the floor outside the Minister’s office door. I thought maybe you’d been the one to pull my file…” She paused, taking back the offending scrap of parchment. “But it’s possible someone else had fetched it and taken it to Scrimgeour.”

“Perhaps when Mr. Thicknesse collected your statement in regard to the incident with the Dementor, he had need of –” Percy began, but Ms. Lewis spoke over him.

“Pius Thicknesse never took my statement,” she told him, shaking her head. Her lips quirked up, wryly. “And…” She trailed off, looking at Percy, who felt himself reeling from this information. She leaned even further over the table toward him, and he scooted his plate to the side so her dark hair didn’t land in his potatoes. “I don’t know that he ever intended to,” she concluded matter-of-factly, voice barely above a whisper. Percy was silent. 

He’d definitely sent the inter-departmental message to Mr. Thicknesse. Unless it had been intercepted…? But why ever would someone read any more into the note than what it had been? Percy wracked his brain for the exact wording. Something along the lines of, _Please see Mr. Eddard Baker and Ms. Audrey Lewis in regards to a report of suspicious activity at their Apparition point_. It was vague enough to not cause alarm, important enough to warrant delivery… unless someone who knew too much intercepted it. Or, perhaps, it had been disregarded by Pius Thicknesse himself. Percy wasn’t sure which scenario worried him more. 

“So,” Percy said slowly. “Let me get this straight.” He folded his hands and looked directly into her eyes, trying to not lose his nerve; her gaze was unflinching and full of apprehension. “You made a scandalous report against dark creatures far outside of their assigned patrol area to the head of the largest and most important departments in the entire Ministry, which has thus far gone un-investigated, and now you fear you are being spied on by your place of employment.”

“Not just my place of employment, Percy!” she hissed. “The government. _Our_ government. I…” She leaned back slightly, wringing her hands together. “I don’t care what Mr. Scrimgeour says about the ‘united front’, and, and being ‘stronger together’. Something’s going on – something bad. Not You-Know-Who, though, I mean, other than that. Something _within_ the Ministry. And I fear I’ve inadvertently placed a rather large target on my own back.”

“Ms. Lewis,” Percy said, tugging at his collar once. “You are an esteemed employee of the office of the Minister for Magic. You did your duty and reported your issues to the appropriate outlet. All you can do now, is…” He swallowed once, looking down. “…is trust your government, and it will not fail you.”

Ms. Lewis breathed out in a quick huff. “So you really believe that bollocks, then?” she demanded, and Percy looked up in surprise. Her blue eyes were startlingly ablaze. “What do they have on you, _hm_? What have they done to you? Because in all the time I’ve known you, you’ve been a dedicated public servant, had your nose to the grindstone, and I always admired your faith, your ambition – but _Percy_. This doesn’t _bother_ you?” There were tears in her eyes, but she blinked them away. “Look at me and tell me right now that you think this is normal. That I shouldn’t worry. That everything is fine. And don’t lie.”

 _“I must not tell lies.”_  

The 6-inch thick file Percy had put together investigating Dolores Umbridge’s tenure at Hogwarts flashed into his mind, and he swallowed. As little stock he’d put in The Daily Profit, they’d referred to Fudge’s term as Minister “corrupt”, and while Percy had defended him as best he could, it was hard to argue with the findings of an investigation. Still, he vowed to uphold the honour of the office to Scrimgeour at the transfer. What, though, had Fudge been traded for?

Percy looked down, and instead of answering, snatched the fork back up and took a dismally large bite of roast beef, feeling uncouth as he shovelled it in. 

Ms. Lewis looked appeased, swiping discretely at her eyes as Percy made quick work of the plate of food, colour gradually returning to his cheeks. Percy avoided her gaze, guiltily, but hoped they’d at least come to an understanding. He was trying to fight the panic that threatened to take over; for now – and perhaps for a while – the best method of survival had been to keep his head down and not get involved. But, he mused, taking the last bite of potatoes, it seemed he’d fallen off the deep end. He met Ms. Lewis’s gaze as he shoved his plate to the side; she was watching him, silently, as though he were a riddle she was puzzling through. 

“I, er…” Percy cleared his throat. “I’m not sure whether I ought to return to the office.”

“It would probably be the safest option. Just tell them I fell ill, and you accompanied me home?” Ms. Lewis suggested, smiling gently and grabbing Percy’s plate. She rose and carried the plate toward the kitchen area, the clicking sound of her heels echoing in the empty pub. Percy let his eyes close, focussing on his breathing; steady inhalation and exhalation, to calm his racing heart. He’d all but perfected his poker face, and had become mostly adept at masking his emotions in the workplace. But he knew, for the rest of the day, the sight of Ms. Lewis’s empty desk would tug at a spot deep in his gut, reminding him of why she wasn’t there, and why he shouldn’t –

He stopped himself before his brain could finish the thought. Ms. Lewis reappeared and, thankful for the distraction, Percy picked up her scarf from its place on the seat next to him. He rose and, without thinking, grasped each end of the scarf in his hands, reaching up and settling it around her shoulders. His face grew hot when he realized the implication, and he opened his mouth to apologize, but a grin spread across Ms. Lewis’s blushing face, and after their serious conversation it was such a relief to see her smile that he decided to let it go. Instead he said, “How much do I owe you? For the meal?”

“Would you just accompany me home?” she responded. “I’ll call it even, though truly you’re doing me the bigger favour.”

Percy was ready to argue the impropriety of accepting a meal without paying for it, but at the same time, though she smiled, there was a desperate look in her eyes, and he obliged, chest puffing out (only slightly) at the prospect of safely escorting her back to her flat. Given the circumstances, it felt like a civic duty.

The rain had tapered off, but low-hanging clouds made the day rather dreary and breezy, and Percy shoved his pockets deep into his coat as the door shut behind them. Ms. Lewis’s flat was mere blocks from her parents’ pub, and as it was a muggle occupied area, they opted to walk.

Both of them were quiet, lost in their own thoughts; Percy could see Ms. Lewis’s teeth worrying her lip. He was unable to stop dwelling on her situation, the panic she faced, and what danger could potentially be in store for her. He didn’t want to be involved, but he also felt he had no choice; he knew too much, now. A thought, half-formed, occurred to him – that perhaps his parents would know what to do, have some sort of resource, that the Order of the Phoenix might be able to assist Ms. Lewis. But he pushed it away. He needed action and sure plans, not fantasy – and that was what reconciling with his family seemed to be. He felt himself casting anxious glances over his shoulder the whole way; his spine was prickling, but when his eyes swept the pavement behind him, they found nothing.

When they reached the door to Ms. Lewis’s building, she unlocked it discretely with her wand and opened it before turning to face him.

“You’ll want to put wards up,” he muttered, not meeting her gaze. “And make sure you’ve a security question ready, in case of any visitors.” 

There was an almost impish smile on her face when he looked up, and, eyes dancing, she said, “Okay then – what’s my favourite dessert?”

Percy’s mouth went dry at the first thought that came to mind – but… she couldn’t mean…?

“Jam roly-poly,” he said, voice hollow.

“Perceptive,” she responded, cheekily. “And something only _you_ know.” She seemed to hesitate for a moment before swooping in and placing a kiss against his cheek. She had no sooner pulled back, letting out a light giggle, like the sound of a wind chime, before shutting the door in his face. Percy reached up, massaging his temples with his fingertips, and turned to face the empty street. Merlin, he was doomed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy glanced up at her as she unrolled the parchment, eyeing the line that appeared between her eyebrows with curiosity. He’d noticed her making that face before – usually in moments of intense concentration.
> 
> “Miss Lewis?” he asked, capping his inkwell and watching her expression shift with trepidation.
> 
> “An invitation,” she murmured. Percy was out of his seat in an instant, heart pounding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile, I know! I've had this chapter written for months but was agonizing over the direction this story will go in future chapters - I have plans for at least 9 more, and I've edited and edited and been unhappy with a lot of it. But this remains unchanged, and there is plenty more in store, hopefully coming in a more timely manner :)

Summer was passing uneventfully; the weather was markedly less dreary as June gave way to July, and a heat wave hit London like a bludger. Percy kept his head down during the week, working diligently as always, but kept a constant ear to the ground. Weekends he stayed home, tending to his small garden or reading in a reclining chair on his balcony, and the skin of his face prickled with sunburn in return for his efforts. 

As for Ms. Lewis… well. Percy glanced up at her as she popped into his mind, as if she’d called out his name; she was at her desk, head down, working diligently at proofing a speech Minister Scrimgeour was set to give the following week. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, but even across the office, he could see beads of sweat at her hairline and on the back of her neck. He’d taken to carrying around a handkerchief, which he used to dab at sweat; he paused to do so, then, adjusting his eyeglasses as they slipped down his nose. She glanced up to find him looking at her, offered a grin, and returned to the parchment in front of her. Despite a pink butterfly clip, stray fringe was falling into her eyes and Percy felt a desire to brush it aside, and a stirring in his chest that was so foreign it was almost painful. He looked away sharply.

The atmosphere between him and his secretary had changed so infinitesimally that nobody but them would have noticed; he still spoke to her in the utmost professional manner, as he would any of his colleagues. But the iciness in her eyes when she looked at him had all but disappeared, and at various times – such as this – she had a glowing, secret smile reserved just for him. It was unnerving.

He’d taken to appraising her when she arrived to work in the morning, eyes sweeping her carefully for so much as a hair out of place. Only one day did she seem truly shaken – she swore up and down in a hushed tone she’d seen a cloud in the shape of the Grim – but otherwise, was in as good of spirits as one could be… that is, when one has lost complete fate in one’s government, society, and place of employment. 

She was polite but curt where anyone else was concerned – not just towards Minister Scrimgeour, who seemed to take her abrupt change in demeanour in stride, but to everyone who came into the office. She would talk, sure, but the mindless chatter was absent. Percy would hazard a chance at calling her demure, now. And, for some godforsaken reason, it bothered him.

Oh, he was a right mess. The thought plagued him, that someone was keeping tabs on her activities. That, while she carried upon her business, she felt unsafe. He couldn’t very well accompany her everywhere; that would go beyond impropriety, even if he wasn’t her superior. But, at the very least, while within the walls of the Ministry he could keep an eye on her.

A barn owl fluttered through the open window next to Ms. Lewis’s desk, fluttering her papers and sending a welcome breeze through the chamber; she accepted the note tied to its leg, stroking it gently on the back of its head, before it took off the way it came.

Percy glanced up at her as she unrolled the parchment, eyeing the line that appeared between her eyebrows with curiosity. He’d noticed her making that face before – usually in moments of intense concentration.

“Miss Lewis?” he asked, capping his inkwell and watching her expression shift with trepidation.

“An invitation,” she murmured. Percy was out of his seat in an instant, heart pounding, recalling the last time he’d gotten an invitation. Bill’s wedding was this weekend, he knew, and he felt he’d already made it plain – painfully so – that he didn’t want to go… He wrenched the parchment from her grasp, frantic, ignoring the glare she shot him. If he had to deal with their disappointment, he figured, he’d better get it over with.

_Percy,_

_Gawain and I so enjoyed your presence at our last gathering! We will be having another dinner this Saturday, and I so hope you will grace us with your attendance – you shall be rewarded with another jam roly-poly! You are more than welcome to bring a guest with you. Dinner will commence promptly at six o’clock, but feel free to arrive anytime after four for cocktails._

_Cheers!_

_Julia Robards_

“Auror Robards’s wife has invited me for dinner this Saturday,” he sighed, palpably relieved, settling his hip against her desk as he sagged, his heart racing. He glanced up to Ms. Lewis; her eyes were guarded, and she was staring at the invite with suspicion. “What?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Ms. Lewis snapped sarcastically, turning away from him to resume her proofing, “What a delight for you. I forgot you’re best mates with all the Aurors again.”

Percy’s eyes bugged, and he cast an over-exaggerated look at Scrimgeour’s closed office door, a clear sign for her to _shut up and keep it down_ , lest they be overheard. “I know you don’t trust them,” he hissed, barely above a whisper, “but this is a good sign. They trust _me_. If they trust me, then I…” She looked up to meet his gaze, blue eyes curious, and he faltered. “I can protect you,” he breathed, swallowing heavily and looking at the open window over her shoulder, back down to the note, glanced at his shoes; anywhere but her, and the intensity of her gaze. He wished he hadn’t left his handkerchief at his desk, as he was sweating again. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, grimacing at the feel. 

Ms. Lewis was silent. Percy folded up the invitation slowly, painstakingly, finally chancing a glance up at her through his lashes; she was wringing her hands in her lap, eyes down, cheeks blushed prettily – whether from heat or from… well, he wasn’t sure he ought to wander far down that path of thinking.

“Come with me,” he blurted, immediately wincing.

Ms. Lewis’s chair scooted a good foot away from him with the force of her reaction; she bumped her desk with her knee and swore colourfully under her breath as papers scattered and her inkwell upended itself at the impact. Percy couldn’t help rolling his eyes at her dramatics and swiftly pulled his wand out of his pocket; with a sweeping wave of his wand, the ink bottle righted itself and the parchment returned to its neat and orderly stack.

“You – what?” she asked him incredulously, once she’d recovered.

He hesitated before answering, because bloody hell, where had that come from? “Come with me to this party,” he repeated, slowly; it sounded almost like a question. He wasn’t sure what had caused him to make the quick decision – maybe the way Ms. Lewis’s skin was glistening almost distractedly, the way her hair framed her face, but he blinked that thought away, trying to think logistically. Truthfully, rubbing elbows with powerful men from the Auror department didn’t seem like an unwise move, for the moment. Perhaps bringing Audrey – _Ms. Lewis_ – around would somehow shed light on their uncertainty. He pressed his lips together before continuing in a rush. “These gatherings are socialize and make nice, and would be a novel opportunity for some face time with powerful men in this government. I don’t wager you want to be my secretary forever, do you? Networking is what it’s all about.” He quirked an eyebrow at her, and in a lower voice said, “If you’re by my side, do you think they’d try anything? Truly? This is an opportunity to interact with them. Feel them out, even. Pay attention to how they treat you, gain some insight.” He swallowed. “I _will_ protect you,” he vowed, and despite all the sweet talking, simpering, and flattery he’d done in his Ministry career to gain good favour, he felt the truth so very powerfully in this statement; Ms. Lewis’s lips had parted, slightly, in surprise, and he had a feeling she’d taken his words to heart.

“I have one condition,” she said finally, her red lips quirking up at the corner.

“Yes?” he asked her.

She grinned at him, eyes dancing. “You have to call me Audrey.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d stood on the stoop outside the door to Audrey’s flat for almost a quarter of an hour, pacing; and when he’d finally gathered the courage to knock, she’d opened the door to reveal herself in a ruby red cocktail dress and non-work appropriate heels, and Percy felt all of his internal organs simultaneously shut down.

Mrs. Julia Robards was a tall woman with severe cheekbones and corn silk blonde hair. She insisted on greeting people by pecking them on each cheek, and Percy plastered on a fake smile as she lunged at him like a vulture.

“Percy, dear, how have you been since we last spoke?” she asked gaily, appraising him at arm’s length with both hands on his shoulders, like a proud mother. His gut clenched.

“Quite well,” he told her, only a slight fib, reaching up to tug once at the tight collar of his shirt, and smiling politely. “Hopefully the same for you? And this,” he said, stepping aside to reveal his date, “is Audrey Lewis.”

Mrs. Robards had positively crowed, fawning over Ms. Lewis – _Audrey_ – and Percy had carefully, boldly, reached over to rest his hand at the small of her back, glancing at a few men from the Ministry office scattered around the grand entryway that had eyed his secretary rather curiously upon her reveal.

He’d stood on the stoop outside the door to Audrey’s flat for almost a quarter of an hour, pacing; and when he’d finally gathered the courage to knock, she’d opened the door to reveal herself in a ruby red cocktail dress and non-work appropriate heels, and Percy felt all of his internal organs simultaneously shut down.

“Percy?” she’d asked after a moment, visibly concerned; he’d cleared his throat rather roughly and asked to use her loo.

“Ah, ah,” she’d chided, a small grin forming. “Not until we have a discussion on my favourite dessert…”

“Jam roly-poly,” he’d stuttered out, as though it were the Gryffindor house password, and she stepped aside, eyes twinkling, to let him in.

Standing in the cramped space of her washroom, hunched over the vanity, he’d splashed cool water on his face and studied his reflection in the mirror. His most recent sunburn had finished peeling, and once more he was pallid beneath his freckles. He adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses, straightened his tie, and heaved a deep sigh. What in Merlin’s name had he gotten himself into?

He’d allowed himself a full minute of panic before returning to her sitting room, where she was waiting for him perched on the edge of an armchair, tugging absent-mindedly at the long chain around her neck. She’d looked up as he approached, drinking him in warmly, and he had to look elsewhere, clenching and unclenching his fists; she looked devastatingly beautiful, and he hadn’t thought such things about a woman in ages, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the revelation, so he cleared his throat and offered a short, “Shall we be going?”

Even now, Audrey seemed to be aware of the effect she was having on him; she was grinning impishly at him out the corner of her eye as she got acquainted with Mrs. Robards, the epitome of poise and professionalism – the look she gave him, however, was anything but.

“And how long have you two been together, dear?” Mrs. Robards asked Audrey curiously. “Forgive me, but I don’t recall hearing about you at all at our last party! It seems Percy was being secretive about his young lady friend!” She let out a tittering laugh, and Audrey beamed, shifting her weight onto the opposite foot so that her arm brushed Percy’s and she smiled up at him mischievously.

“There’s nothing to divulge yet,” she informed Mrs. Robards diplomatically, “as this is our first outing! He’s only just plucked up the courage to ask.”“Well!” Mrs. Robards trilled, looking incredibly pleased. “I would have never guessed! Might I say, you look quite well suited to one another!” She glanced over Audrey’s shoulder. “Forgive me, you two, I must be rude; I’ve just seen another guest arrived.” To Percy she said, “We must catch up later! Find me before dinner has been served!” and left them with a small wave.

Audrey carefully slid an arm around Percy’s waist, turning to him, and he flushed crimson as his fingers accidentally brushed the curve of her bum at her movement. “How are you holding up?” she asked coyly, and Percy exhaled through his nose.

“We’re here for appearances,” he told her quietly, not meeting her gaze and instead letting his eyes sweep the room, sizing up various department heads and Aurors. It felt surreal to him that he was now so suspicious of those he once held in such high regard. His admiration felt tainted and wrong, now.

“Exactly,” Audrey replied, and his eyes flicked to her face; she was closer than he’d realized, gazing at him in what could be admiration. “Nobody here knows what we know. We can act none the wiser, put on a show to keep their guards down. Yes?”

“Yes,” he agreed, swallowing. She reached up a hand, placing it softly against his neck, and leaned up to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. His eyes slid closed.

“Audrey,” he whispered, warningly.

“I’ve seen the way you’ve looked at me today,” Audrey said quietly; when he opened his eyes she was close, their faces mere inches apart. “I’m not blind, you know,” she added, the corners of her lips twitching.

He cleared his throat. “This dinner party is purely a professional courtesy,” he said, his eyes drifting from her to the door, where Minister Rufus Scrimgeour himself had just entered the Robards’s home.

“ _Minister_!” Mrs. Robards squealed from across the room, and Audrey’s head whipped around. She glanced at Percy from the corner of her eye.

“We’ll table that discussion for now, shall we,” she told him. “But I’m not letting you out of it that easily.”

Percy sighed through his nose and stiffly offered her his arm. She took it, eyes now focused on Scrimgeour, who was shaking hands with Mr. Robards and Mr. Jones. Percy led her slowly across the hall to the Minister, who seemed to do a double-take when he caught sight of his Junior Assistant and Secretary.

“Weasley!” Scrimgeour said in greeting, and stepped forward to shake his proffered hand and clap him on the shoulder. “I must admit, I was surprised to not see you at your parents’ home this afternoon.” Percy felt himself stiffen; he released the Minister’s hand as though it had burned him and looked up to his boss in surprise.

“You…?” he said intelligently.

“Popped by to deliver to Mr. Potter the personal effects of one Albus Dumbledore,” Scrimgeour told him, his yellow eyes shifting. “At any rate, lovely day for your brother’s wedding.” Percy felt eyes on him from surrounding Ministry officials that had overheard; even Audrey was looking at him curiously, having never received an answer in regards to the invitation to the wedding she’d intercepted for him months before.

“Yes indeed,” Percy responded coldly. A tray of champagne was floating by and he reached out and seized a flute, drinking it to save him from responding further. Mr. Jones said something quietly to the Minister and he turned away, and Percy drained the flute of champagne, eyes immediately seeking out the tray for a replacement.

“Percy,” Audrey whispered, reaching up with her free hand and placing it lightly on his chest. He shrugged it off, unlinking their arms, crossing the room and heading through an intricate archway. Audrey followed him, heels clicking rapidly on the travertine floors as she hurried to catch up with his long strides.

Behind the entrance hall, through the archway, was a sitting room with an impressive mahogany wet bar in the corner. A tall, dark-skinned wizard leaned against it, sipping gin out of a goblet, and behind the bar, a house elf with large ears curtsied upon Percy’s entering the room.

“What may I get for you, sir?” the house elf squeaked as Percy approached the bar. He glanced to his left at the wizard, vaguely recognizing him as Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“Anything,” Percy said with a vague wave of his hand, eyes returning to the house elf. “Something strong, preferably.”“Yes sir!” the house elf said, and picked through the bottles before him, finally selecting one and hefting it up to pour.

“ _Percy_ ,” Audrey said from behind him. “What’s going on?”

Percy ignored her, feeling a rage simmering in his gut. For all the years he’d devoted to the Ministry, the time he’d spent to impress _this_ Minister, and he’d been humiliated in front of his high-ranking coworkers, all for the family who wanted nothing to do with him for this very career. He was missing his oldest brother’s wedding, right that very moment. Bill, his idol, who’d inspired and motivated him to be made Head Boy in the first place. His head spun. He wrenched the drink from the house elf when it was offered, downing half in one swallow. Audrey reached for the glass, as if to take it from him, but he held it up above her head where she could not reach. She took a step back, staring at him with an unreadable expression. Mr. Shacklebolt was rather pointedly looking away.

“Okay,” Audrey said slowly, voice a sharp whisper, “you’re going to come with me and tell me what in the bloody hell is going on with you, _right now_ , or I’m leaving, which at this point,” she added in a hiss, “could be dangerous for both of us.”

Percy sighed, rolling his eyes, and downed the rest of the drink. “Another,” he snapped at the house elf, who jumped slightly, busying himself behind the bar. Audrey crossed her arms and tapped the toe of one pointed shoe. Once Percy had the glass in hand, he gestured for her to go ahead, and she flounced across the room, looking murderous. At the far end, just past a plush couch that looked as if it had never been sat on, there was another archway, leading to a sunroom with an armchair, chaise, and floor to ceiling windows. Percy leaned against the doorway, taking a pull of the drink, which stung his throat, and watched Audrey pace, in front of him, toying with her necklace again and looking agitated. She finally ceased movement and looked up at him, eyes blazing.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on? Truly?” she asked, placing one hand on the back of the chair and waiting for a response.

“I’ve bollocksed everything up, and I fancied a drink,” Percy replied with a shrug, lifting the glass; the ice in it crackled.

“No,” Audrey replied, marching forward and grabbing on to his shirt collar. “The wedding.” He winced and looked away from her. She gave another tug to the shirt. “No! _No_. No more being evasive. You never talk about them, you acted as though you’d seen a ghost when you got the wedding announcement – and _again_ when you thought your invite to this party was from them, and don’t look at me like that,” she added, when his head whipped around to scowl, “because that _had_ to be what it was. There’s no other explanation. Look, Percy.” She lowered her fist from his collar and reached down to grasp his hand, walking backward and tugging him along; he let her pull him, absently, feeling a sharp pinch in his temples that told him the alcohol was working its way through his system, finally. They crossed the room, and Audrey led him to the chaise, sinking down onto it sideways, and directing him to a spot next to her. It wasn’t yet five, and the sun was still high in the sky; the large windows provided a beautiful view of expansive grounds, and an orchard in the distance.

“Right now, you’re all I have,” Audrey said quietly. Percy leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and studied the glass in his hands, watching the sunlight refract off the crystals in the bottom. “I’ve friends, sure, but why drag them into this? Family – but they’re muggles, and no doubt will be worse off if things go any further south. I wait every day for someone to strike – whether it be a Ministry employee, or – or one of _his_ followers. I don’t mean to sound desperate, I just… you’re my last shot at safety. I’m grateful for your offers of protection. However,” she added, and her voice took on a hard edge, “drinking yourself stupid and fighting with the Minister are not good tactics for either of us, at the moment, so –”

“I’m not good for you to be around,” Percy interrupted. He lifted the glass slightly, appraising, before taking another large gulp. “M’toxic.”

“Why?” Audrey asked, voice crossing into shrill territory. “Where did this come from?” Percy didn’t respond. “Your family is a sore subject. That’s plain. But I need you to tell me, _now_. What happened?”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I realize I am truly the biggest prat of all time. There is no way on earth my family could want to see my face ever again! I’m a sad excuse for a son and brother. I’m far safer – they’re far safer – with me pretending not to know them.”

“Your family is a sore subject. That’s plain. But I need you to tell me, _now_. What happened?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know,” Percy said after a few long moments of silence. “The battle in the Department of Mysteries. Dumbledore’s death. My family was there for all of it. Dad was attacked by some kind of snake that nearly killed him. And, I didn’t want to go see him in St. Mungo’s,” he continued, voice thick, “because Fudge convinced me it would be like admitting he had a point, that Dumbledore was right, that dark forces were at work. He _was_ right, of course. And a Death Eater – a werewolf – attacked my brother, the night of Dumbledore’s death. Tore his face to shreds. And I didn’t want to show sympathies because our views were at odds, and Scrimgeour wanted us to show a united front. And then, when I got the wedding invite…” He swallowed. “I assumed it was a pity invite – sent by my mother, most probably – and that he was fine, as he was still to be married and all…” He reached up and ran a hand over his face. “And to say this out loud, I realize I am truly the biggest prat of all time. There is no way on earth my family could want to see my face ever again! I’m a sad excuse for a son and brother. I’m far safer – _they’re_ far safer – with me pretending not to know them.”

Audrey was silent, watching him, expressionless, taking in his words.

“I used to say – I’d _tell_ them – that they were shameful. That once my career took off, they were an embarrassment, a hindrance. Little did I know the reverse to be true. Minister Scrimgeour promoted my father, last year, like they’re some kind of great pals. The Minister… he’s grateful for my allegiance, sure, but he holds me at arms’ length, like I’m mediocre, because I only serve one specific purpose to him. I’m a pawn. And I let him make me one, because I was too short-sighted, too focused on my own ambition, _head too far up my arse_ to see it clearly.” His hands tightened around the glass. “I loathe myself,” he said, teeth gritted. “You’ve no idea how many nights…” He looked up to her then, swallowing down his words before he could finish forming them.

He’d turned to the bottle far more than he liked, as of late; another reason to avoid his family. He could clearly envision himself at Bill’s wedding, weepy and pathetic with champagne in hand. He pressed his lips together, shoving the thought away. He was getting fuzzy around the edges already, pathetically lightweight, and he felt his tongue loosen with more of his pathetic confessions.

“My whole life, I was lumped in the middle of a group. Not the oldest, the first to do anything, nor the youngest, the freshest in mind. Just the middle. A balancing act. I had to fight to stand out – and I thought I was worth it, then! It was simply fact. I made people proud when I over-performed, followed the rules, read the books and got the grades. So that’s what I _did_. And I’ve held on to that my whole sodding life, and do you know what it’s got me? Here I am, a high ranking Ministry official with access to some information only the Minister himself knows. But I stand _alone_. The family I so wanted to impress hates me, and loathe what I have become, and our disagreements separated us because I thought I knew better. I thought this was the path for me. That room out there,” he said, pointing vaguely towards the entrance hall where the pack of Ministry employees milled about, “is filled with people who, I’m certain, don’t give a damn whether I live or die – and potentially want to…” He gulped. “To hurt you,” he finished, hollowly. He raised one hand to massage at his aching temples. “My life is a sad imitation of what I dreamed, and I’m _stuck_. I’ve got no way out. The knowledge in my head feels useless to the insurm-insurmon-insurmountable obstacles of war. I don’t trust anyone.” He paused, finishing the harsh liquor in his glass. “Except you,” he said after a moment.

“Me? ...Just me?” Audrey asked in a gasp, and when he turned his head to face her, it felt disjointed, as though not attached to his body.

“You. You’re the first person,” he told her, gazing at her with glassy, unfocussed eyes, “to make me feel worth a damn, without trying, in a long, long time.”

Led by impulse, he leaned forward to rest his forehead against Audrey’s, bumping it clumsily, and their noses brushed; he heard her sharp intake of breath and watched her blink; it seemed like slow motion, watching her long eyelashes fan out across her cheek before her eyes opened and he stared into their depths, lost in the blue. His hands gripped gently at her elbows, tethering him to the spot. Audrey was warmth, familiarity, comfort.

“I’m scared,” he murmured, his words slurring together.

“Of what?” Audrey breathed.

“Of how right this feels,” he replied, gently ghosting his fingertips up her bare arms, and feeling the gooseflesh break out beneath his hands. She was still so close, eyes impossibly blue as they flicked down to his lips; even as the alcohol dulled his senses, he hadn’t missed that look, and while it had been awhile, there were certain things one never forgot…

Percy closed the breath of space between them, pecking once, clumsily, against Audrey’s lower lip; she tilted her head just a fraction, slotting her lips beneath his, and then he was kissing her, and it felt as if time stood still.

Percy held on to Audrey’s upper arm with one hand, and let the other drift up to carefully brush the stray strands of hair out of her face like he’d been longing to do. Audrey’s mouth was warm and pliant beneath his, and he felt a tug at his neck where she gripped the lapels of his jacket. His fingers crept deeper into her hair, winding their way into her up-do and spasming at the feel of her tongue against his. She sighed into his mouth when his fingers tugged at the chignon at the back of her neck, and he felt her arms wind around his neck. Percy felt as if he’d been clobbered across the head, his thoughts spinning drunkenly around his mind, but the thought most in the forefront was one of exclamation – of the “ _Merlin’s saggy left testicle, I’m kissing her!_ ” variety. Percy’s hand dropped from where it gripped her arm to wind around her waist, pulling her more firmly against him, ceasing his ministrations at her lips to trail kisses across her cheek and jaw and to the soft spot just beneath her ear. Percy left a hot, lingering kiss that elicited a soft whine from deep in Audrey’s throat; the sound raised gooseflesh across his body, and he returned his lips to hers, kissing her roughly, urgently, as though possessed.

“Percy –” Audrey muttered after a moment, pulling back, but Percy merely bracketed his arms around where he had her pinned to the chaise and resumed their breathless kissing. Something hit him in the temple, and he pulled back, startled, to see Audrey, lipstick smudged and chest heaving, her hand raised from where she’d struck him. A sudden rush of panic sobered him fractionally – he’d let himself get carried away, in a room so easily accessed by the rest of the house – when he heard a commotion in another area of the house.

A heavy door slammed, and there were muffled screams and a loud wail. A man’s voice was speaking, but his words were slightly muffled. It seemed there was a back and forth happening; Audrey shoved Percy aside, nearly sending him to the floor, and leapt to her feet. She strode hastily toward the archway, careful to step lightly in her heels, and swiped at her chin, the back of her hand coming away with a red smudge. Percy focused on it for a moment, a flush rising to his cheeks.

“ _Imperio_!”

Audrey jumped back from the archway, startled at the spell being cast in the front room, and turned to Percy, eyes fearful and wide as saucers.

“Minister,” a voice boomed proudly, “it seems your term has reached its end. Thank you for your service.” Percy staggered to his feet, vertigo taking hold as his shaky legs carried him towards the archway, to Audrey’s side.

“ _AVADA KEDAVRA_!”

Audrey grabbed Percy’s arm, pulling him to her side against the wall. He felt her hand slide against his torso and he jumped, but in the next second she was holding his wand aloft, standing between him and the chaos of the party.

A fight had clearly broken out, and more curses could be heard. Someone was sobbing loudly.

“Leave us!” someone shouted from around the corner, and Percy’s blood ran cold at the familiar voice. “Remember your orders. Start with the Weasleys. Remember – He wants him alive.”

Percy reached for the wall as his world shifted; he felt his knee hit the ground. Audey was leaning over him, and, in the next second, so was Kingsley Shacklebolt, his face grave.

“Get him out of here, and both of you find safety,” Shacklebolt told them firmly. “Unless you’d like to also be Imperiused – or worse.” He raised his wand to his throat and mumbled, “ _The Ministry has fallen. The Ministry of Magic is dead. They are coming_.” He then flicked his wand toward the back windows, and a silvery lynx erupted from the end, shattering through the back window as though a rock had been thrown through it. “Now!” he added sharply to them, turning and bracing himself at the doorway. A bolt of red flashed into the room and Audrey screeched.

Audrey’s hand found Percy’s and a second later he felt the all-too-familiar feeling of his body being compressed, smaller and smaller, flying – Audrey’s doorway swam across his vision, but then there was flash of black, the sound of Audrey screaming, and the doorway was gone, replaced by a solid floor below Percy’s body, and he passed out.


End file.
